


Instinct

by skund



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:06:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skund/pseuds/skund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mother's instinct is one of the most powerful forces in the world. Clark has yet to learn this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instinct

There were many things in both Clark’s heroic and civilian life that he would call achievements. In fact, he counted every life he saved as Superman an achievement and it was these little victories that kept him going when things got tough. His journalism career, by necessity, was not as distinguished but he was quietly proud of the few small awards he’d earned over the years; his Ma kept the framed certificates next to his participation trophies from junior high baseball. None of these achievements, however, were quite comparable to the sight of Bruce Wayne in jeans and a sweatshirt getting a tour from Pa over the new combine harvester.

It had taken months of planning, begging and finally a lost wager on Bruce’s behalf to get the man here, but Clark didn’t regret it. His friend didn’t look after himself properly and Lord knows when the man last got a decent amount of sun. Bruce had been withdrawn at first (withdrawn, not sullen, because sullen would imply that he was sulking and Bat’s don’t sulk) but after a day of Ma’s devoted hospitality and Pa’s gentle patience the man has slowly started to relax, much to Clark’s delight. Any reservations Clark’s parents had of putting up Gotham’s infamous vigilante were politely concealed and then discarded as Bruce began to warm to his hosts.

Clark had taken Bruce fishing down the old river on the second day, which had been an experience. Bruce approached catching catfish with the same intensity and gravity that he did with everything else and soon outstripped Clark two to one for number of fish caught. Clark didn’t mind at all. When a rather vigorous fish got Clark full in the face with a swish of water when he was releasing it Bruce had laughed and flashed a smile that Clark had never seen before. He instantly liked it.

Now, their last day on the farm was drawing to a close. Clark was sitting on the back porch, nursing a glass of lemonade as he watched the long shadows dance as Bruce followed Pa puttering about outside the barn. Behind him in the house he could hear Ma start to gather pots and pans for dinner. Sure, he could extended his hearing and his vision beyond; over to the Macey’s the next farm over, or into town, or even back to Metropolis. But this little golden world of quiet murmurs and light was all he needed right now.

The creak of the back door broke him out of his reverie and he looked up just as Ma dropped a bowl with a bag of string beans into his lap. She settled into the rocking chair beside him and started peeling potatoes from a bowl in her own lap. Without a word Clark emptied the beans into his bowl and started stringing them, dumping the ends in the empty bag. Martha gently rocked her chair as she worked, the creak of weather-worn wood another whisper of sound in Clark’s golden world.

“It’s so nice of you to bring Bruce down to stay.”

“I’ve been meaning to get him away for a while.” Clark replied absently.

“The boy sure looks like he needs some downtime, he must work awfully hard.”

“Ma, you don’t know the half of it.”

“I worry for you all sometimes, up there in space. People aren’t made to live in tin cans all the time.”

“The Watchtower’s state-of-the-art, the League doesn’t want for anything. And we’re not up there all the time.”

“I know, dear. But there’s no substitute for good earth and the sun on your shoulders.”

Clark looked out, across the fields to the sun was sitting low in the west, sending shimmers of gold across the ocean of winter-ripe wheat.

“Yeah, Ma. I know.”

Martha cleared her throat, dropped a peeled potato into the bowl and grabbed another.

“I’m glad that you trust your father and me enough to bring Bruce home.”

He looked over his shoulder up at her.

“Of course I trust you guys. You’ve kept my secret all these years, I don’t have any doubts that you’ll keep one more.”

“Oh, of course dear, yes.”

Clark turned back to the beans, stringing them with nimble fingers.

“It’s just been so long since you brought someone home to stay.”

“Well, things have been... busy for the last few years. Crazy, really.”

“You brought down Lois a time or two.”

“Yeah,” Clark said wistfully, “but things just didn’t work out between us.”

“That’s a shame, dear.”

Clark just shrugged. The stress of ‘dating’ Lois, if you could call the string of missed dinners, apologies and arguments ‘dating’, while maintaining his secret identity has taken a far greater toll than Clark had ever anticipated. Their romantic relationship had been a disaster and had almost destroyed their working relationship too. It had taken a long time to get back to where they started from.

“She was awfully bossy though. Never let you get a word in edgewise.”

He laughed. Lois and Martha under the same roof was thankfully something he’d never have to endure again. The two of them could teach the Green Lanterns a few things about willpower, that’s for sure.

“Still, I’m glad you could find someone in the end.”

“Yeah, I... what?” Clark replied with a frown, not quite following his mother’s train of thought.

“We don’t mind, your Pa and me. We can see how good he is for you. ‘Sides, we’re not all pitchfork waving bible fiends out here in the country.”

“Ma?”

“I always wanted to see you settled with a family, but we never could work out if you could, you know, make babies with a human woman.”

“Ma!” Clark yelled, feeling a blush creep up his neck.

“But he has kids, doesn’t he? Some boys? I think there was a story in the paper ‘bout them last year.”

By now Clark’s face had flushed red, right to his ears. The beans lay completely forgotten as he looked up at his mother incredulously.

“Ma, I’m not with Bruce!”

“What?”

“I..., we’re..., no Ma. We’re no together.”

“It’s okay, Clark. You don’t have to hide-“

“I’m not hiding anything, I’m serious!”

“... Really?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.” Martha said quietly. “I didn’t... I was so sure you two were.... The way you look at him sometimes... ”

Clark buried his face in his hands.

“No, Ma.”

“Oh. Well, I guess... I guess it doesn’t matter then. It wouldn’t matter if you were, mind you. We love you, no matter what.”

“Just stop. Please, just stop.”

“I..., hmm. I better get these ‘taters in some water.” She said as she stood, bowl of potatoes firmly in her hands. Clark breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the door swing shut behind her, ran his hands through his hair. Oh, good grief. Clark’s skin tingled red and he felt ambushed, like a brooding hen suddenly plucked from her eggs.

Voices. Clark looked up to see Bruce and Pa approaching. He instantly knew he couldn’t face talking to either at the moment, and disappeared inside the house and up the stairs before they could reach him.

“What wrong with Clark? He shot outta here like a cat with a cherry bomb on its tail.” Pa’s voice drifted up from the kitchen.

“Oh, you know him. Gets homesick before he even leaves. He’ll be right in a little bit.” Martha replied.

The noise of the men washing up for dinner, under Martha’s strict orders, and the clatter of pots and pans masked any further conversation from Clark’s hearing. Though nothing could mask the rattle of Clark’s thoughts in his own head.

\----

If Clark was a little quieter than usual during dinner no one commented. Bruce and Pa were assigned to dish duty and even Clark had to pause in his own internal musings to watch Bruce with a dishcloth and rubber gloves. Clark retreated outside again soon after, sitting on a bench with the chirping crickets and the icy winter breeze blowing through his hair.

He couldn’t believe that his mother had thought he and Bruce were... doing that. It wasn’t that the idea was repellent. You’d have to be deaf and blind not to admit that Bruce was attractive. It’s just that he was so... Bruce. His world of expensive cars and even more expensive women held little place for a badly dressed, moderately successful farmboy reporter, no matter how powerful his alter ego. And when Bruce was in the cowl Batman seemed to have little need for anyone at all and went out of his way to procure his solitude.

Okay, so admittedly Clark touched Bruce quite often, but it was just because the man was so withdrawn. Everyone needed a little human contact, right? Clark just wanted to make sure he felt... needed. By the League, that is. And sure, Clark smiled at him a fair bit too, but Superman smiled at everyone. Batman hardly ever smiled but Clark was convinced if he could just catch him with the right smile at the right moment... he’d get a grin like he saw the other day, down by the river. The warmth he felt at remembering the open, relaxed look on Bruce’s face was surely just his dinner settling.

The familiar squeal of the back door revealed Bruce, with steaming cups of coffee in both hands.

“Only you would sit out here stargazing when it’s forty degrees.”

Clark fixed a smile on his face, taking the offered drink. Bruce sat next to him, fingers curled tightly around the warm mug.

“You could always stay another day.” Bruce said.

Clark blinked. Bruce always seemed to start a conversation in the middle, a habit he’d passed on to his protégés. Listening to a Batclan conversation often made you wonder if they somehow passing notes. Or sign language.

“Hmm?”

“If you wanted to stay longer, you should. You don’t have to leave just because I have to head back.”

“No, I need to get back too. My city needs me.”

Bruce grunted, sipping at his drink. He knew exactly what Clark meant.

“It’s wonderful that you have this little refuge away from it all. I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave.”

Clark turned to smile at him. Bruce was comfortable and sprawled against the arm of the bench, wearing an ugly sweater Mrs Sawyer from town had knitted for Clark in the eleventh grade.

“It’s not that. Well, it is. There’s nothing like coming home to see Ma and Pa. It’s just that...” Clark paused, debating on whether to confide in his friend or not. But then, that’s what friends were for. “I had a rather odd conversation with Ma earlier today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she... She thought we were together.”

Bruce just looked at him.

“Together together.”

“Oh.” A dark eyebrow was raised in surprise.

Clark started to laugh.

“Can you believe it? I don’t even know where she got that idea from.”

Bruce joined his laughter with a soft chuckle.

“To think that you and I are, y’know.”

“Yeah.”

Bruce was looking intently into this coffee cup, cradled in both hands.

“Could you imagine? I don’t even know where she got the idea.”

“Yeah. She must be watching too much _Queer Eye_.” Bruce turned and smiled at him, and it was a smile he hadn’t seen since they got here.

It was all gleaming teeth and smooth cheeks and didn’t quite manage to reach Bruce’s eyes. Clark had seen that smile a million times before, on the cover of magazines, newspapers and billboards. It was a good smile, photogenic, and looked totally sincere but it was nothing compared to the true grins Clark had been privilege to these last few days. Fake, this smile was fake. It was fake and that meant Bruce was-

“You’re lying.”

Bruce instantly dropped the smile for a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re lying. I know you, you’re lying.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Clark.

“Don’t be stupid. Why would I lie to you?”

“You mean apart from your pathological lying which you subject everyone to?”

Not surprisingly, that didn’t get a response.

“Bruce...”

“It’s freezing out here.” Bruce stated as he placed his cup on the arm of the bench and stood to go inside. Clark instantly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down to sit beside him. He earned a glare for his efforts.

“Bruce, what?”

“Clark, don’t.”

“Bruce, I’m your friend.”

“Yes, Clark, you’re my _friend_.”

“Yeah, and that means you talk to me. What? You think that Ma was...?”

“No.”

“You mean, you? I... You? And me?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does. Talk to me.”

“And say what?” Bruce demanded harshly.

Clark frowned at him.

“You think that we could...”

“No.”

“Together? Because that’s just...”

“No.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“So don’t.”

Clark studied him and the minute displays of emotion Bruce let slip past his guard. The careful set of his face, the defensive hunch of his shoulders. Tension in every line of muscle. Oh. _Oh_.

“How long have you...?”

Bruce stared at his feet for a long minute, and the quiet dragged on so long Clark thought he might not continue.

“Long.” Bruce finally replied.

“And me. Me? Seriously? B, I’m just me. I’m not... anything.”

Bruce just looked at him.

“Are you insane? Clark, you’re... incredible...”

“But you’ve got all those beautiful women hanging off your arm in every photo. You could have anyone...”

But Bruce didn’t appear to be listening to him.

“...Indescribable, you’re incomparable...”

Clark studied Bruce’s face in the dim light that filtered through the windows from inside.

“Bruce... I never even considered.”

“I know. And that’s fine, Clark. It’s fine.”

“I had no idea that you’d ever think of me like that.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. How can you just keep something like that inside?”

Bruce didn’t reply.

“You shouldn’t hold something like that inside.”

“Well what am I going to do, hold you down and kiss you?”

Clark looked away, out into the night. Silence fell between them. Bruce sat back on the bench and it creaked under his shifting weight.

“Maybe.” Clark said softly.

“What? No. I’m not going to force you into something you don’t want.”

“What if I wanted to?”

“But you don’t.”

“I’ve never-“

“Because you don’t, Clark.”

“What if I wanted to?”

“Stop it. You can’t go around trying to please everyone like some giant golden retriever.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is, and it’s pathetic.”

“Name calling is not necessary.” Clark snapped.

“This is ridiculous.”

Bruce went to stand again but Clark grabbed him by his jumper, holding him down.

“You always do that, walk out of a discussion with the last word. Not everything can be on your terms, Bruce.”

“A discussion, is it? Doesn’t sound like one to me.”

“Stop it, just stop it.” Clark demanded, pulling Bruce closer until they were almost breathing each other’s air. He wanted to shake the man. The stupid, obstinate, thick-skulled man. “You can’t just-. You always do this to me. No one else in the entire world gets to me like you do.”

Bruce was glaring at him from under his eyelashes. Bruce’s hands were very deliberately held still against his thighs. Dangerously still.

“You know how to push every one of my buttons, and you always do.”

“Someone has to keep you on your toes, keep you human.” Bruce said in a soft voice.

“I...” Clark suddenly ran out of words. The air between them was warm in comparison to the chill night; Bruce was so close. So very close.

“I could kiss you.” Clark was wide eyed at the revelation.

Nothing about Bruce changed at all, but he the air around him was instantly twice as tense.

“I could kiss you.” Clark repeated.

“Don’t-” Bruce started, but Clark took the words, covering Bruce’s lips with his own. The angle was awkward and their positions weren’t right and Clark wasn’t used to not leaning down into a kiss. But Bruce responded with a slow tenderness that caused something in Clark’s stomach to turn. Clark’s hands in Bruce’s jumper relaxed until he was laying his palms against Bruce’s chest. One of Bruce’s hands slid from his own leg onto Clark’s and up the outside of his thigh. As it clutched his hips Clark gasped and pulled back. The hold on his hip was... odd. Being held felt old, but not wrong. Bruce’s cheeks were rough with afternoon stubble and his lips were thinner, harder. And slightly moist, because Clark just kissed him.

He just kissed him. Clark kissed him. Bruce. Batman. A man. He waited for a wave of revulsion or brimstone or something, but there was nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s chest under his hands, and those piercing blue eyes that looked at him with a mix of surprise and anticipation and a defensiveness that made Clark’s heart ache a little. He had just kissed Bruce. And through the tumult of sensations and feelings that coiled inside him he realised he’d quite like to do it again. So he did.

Bruce responded more this time, running his tongue against Clark’s lips, squeezing his hip with his hand. It’s better that time. Clark slid a hand up into Bruce’s hair, fingers curling into the short strands. Bruce leaned into him more and more, almost in Clark’s lap. Clark pulled him closer and Bruce went without contest. It was good, very good and Clark thought he was getting better at this. Then Bruce moaned against his mouth and all thoughts stopped dead and something shot straight down into Clark’s groin. There was something about making this brilliant, decisive, powerful man _moan_, because of _him_ that just... just... Clark decided to think up a suitable analogy later. Right then all he could think about was Bruce’s lips and Bruce’s hands and Bruce’s heat and Bruce.

Without warning Bruce pulled back, leaning away from him.

“Clark, you don’t have to keep-“ Bruce stopped cold and his eyes were studying Clark’s face. Clark had no idea what he looked like right now, but if his lips were as moist and his eyes as dark as Bruce’s...

“You’re enjoying this.” Bruce sounded incredulous.

Clark didn’t know what to say.

“You’re really... God, Clark.” Bruce was suddenly in his space again, face close and almost touching his. “The things I could show you, do to you. I would make you scream so loud.”

Clark was hit with a sudden rush of mental images, of Bruce’s incredible, creative mind focused purely on him.

“You’d love it, I’d make you love it. Clark, let me love you.”

Bruce didn’t appear to notice what he was saying, but Clark memorised every word.

“Yes,” Clark whispered, “yes.”

Bruce pulled him in for another quick kiss, and it got better with each time. Exponentially better. Bruce then started dropping a line of kisses down Clark’s neck. Clark wondered why it never occurred to him before to kiss Bruce and, more importantly, how he’d ever survive going a day now without feeling Bruce’s wet heat against his skin.

The squeal of the back door was all the warning they had, but it was enough. In a moment Bruce was out of his lap and Clark was sliding away and they almost just might pull it off-

“You boys alright out here? It’s freezing.”

“We’re fine, Ma.” Clark replied in the calmest voice he could muster. It sounded pretty shaky to his own ears. He was thankful for the darkness that mostly obscured them.

“Don’t say out here too long, then. Bruce’ll catch his death.”

The door swung shut as Martha retreated back into the house. The two men sat looking at each other in the pale light. Bruce was breathing heavily and Clark felt hot all over in a way the sun could never make him feel. Reality settled between them, cold as the frosty night air. Was this really...? Were they actually...? Clark saw the moment of realisation stretch out and beyond into the future, under the cool moonlight and racing down the neat lines of silvery wheat, strong and brilliant and alone. Bruce, face turned away, looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Clark held the breath he didn’t really need anyway. Then something broke into golden, glimmering shards of light. Bruce was lunging for him at the same moment Clark was reaching to pull Bruce into him. Bruce landed against his chest with a grunt and Clark hit the arm of the bench hard. The world moved, but not in a good way. Suddenly there was something cold and solid against Clark’s back. There was something heavy against his front too and an odd skeletal shape looming up over him. It took him a moment or two to realise it was bench and the cold underneath him was the wooden planks of the porch. There was a coffee cup just next to his head. The weight on his chest was Bruce, warm and solid and laughing like Clark had never heard before. It was strangely infectious and Clark was laughing too and didn’t want to stop. Not even when Ma and Pa came rushing to see what all the noise was about.

An hour later and Clark was still smiling. Bruce wasn’t, but that’s Bruce. He’d patiently sat though Martha fussing over the bruise blossoming on his cheek and the series of smug looks she kept throwing at Clark. Now they were safely ensconced in front of the fire and Clark’s parents had ‘turned in early’. Clark was on the couch nursing a fresh cup of coffee and Bruce was in the chair adjacent leafing through a Farmer’s Almanac from 1957. Clark wanted to touch him again, feel that solid strength under his fingers once more. Bruce was like a drug, one moment and he was hooked and craving more. Clark’s mind wandered back to what Bruce had said before and pondered what exactly it was Bruce thought he could do that could make Clark scream. Not here, of course. Not now, but later. Bruce’s eyes flicked up from the book to meet Clark’s own, and whatever he was silently considering it certainly wasn’t crop rotations or annual rainfall statistics. Yes, Clark would make certain that there was a later. And a later later. And then another one after that. A million laters, all in a row.

Yes, Clark would make certain of it.


End file.
